There Your Treasure Lies
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: That girl's dangerous, Riddick thought, pricked with unexpected interest. There was something about her; something compelling. Something that called to him, one weapon to another.


**Title:** There Your Treasure Lies

**Author:** Jedi Buttercup

**Rating:** PG-13; het

**Disclaimer:** The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary:** _That girl's dangerous, I thought, pricked with unexpected interest. There was something about her; something compelling. Something that called to me, one weapon to another._ 1800 words.

**Spoilers:** Firefly/Riddick-verse; post-"Serenity" and post-"Riddick" (2013)

**Notes:** 24 Days of Ficmas 2014, Day 1: for hiddencait. Prompt: "River Tam/Riddick - Playing with her hair is like playing with fire." Title from the quote by Joseph Campbell: "It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure."

* * *

I had no clear idea what to expect when I flew into that portal. Underverse, Krone had told me, when I returned to the fleet to _discuss_ the lie about Furya. Transcendence, according to Vaako. But no one had told me what the fuck 'transcendence' was supposed to look like.

Doubt it was what I found on the other side, unless something went seriously wrong in translation. A five-star constellation, tidal-locked cluster, each with its own system of worlds: seventy-plus habitable planets and moons. Hard to believe a configuration like that might spin into being without a nudge from some Architect. But the people that lived on 'em were no different from the ones back home.

No second lives there, so far as I could tell. No dead men walking. No angels. No demons. And, most especially, no 'holy half-dead'. Just the living, of all ages, backgrounds, and religions, and a few fucked up crazies preying on them like ravening beasts. Wherever the Necromongers who died 'in good time' rose again, it wasn't there. Either their whole religion was based on a lie... or it wasn't their Underverse.

Or both. Given the sharp jolt and flash of light that rocked the merc ship just before I crossed the Threshold, it was hard to be sure: one last parting gift from Krone's supporters in the armada. If Vaako made it back from his 'transcendence', I wished him joy of weeding them out. Me, I had a whole new universe to explore.

Not a soul there knew the name Riddick before I arrived. No bounty on my head for the first time since I could remember. No reason for a passing transport freighter to balk at bringing me aboard when my damaged engines crapped out on me. Had my shiv in hand, all ready to ghost the crew the first sign they gave of trying to clap me in irons... but they just showed me to a passenger bunk, invited me to a meal, and took my ship in tow.

Food wasn't anything to celebrate; basic protein, mostly. Company wasn't much, either. It was plain they were still grieving some loss, from the pregnant second-in-command to the awkward mechanic in her flower-decked coveralls. Most of them had questions: about my goggles, or the unfamiliar tech of my vessel. Wanted to know where I was from. But they weren't _afraid_ of me. Not even the soft-skinned doc or the poised, perfumed woman at the captain's left hand.

Just as well. Turned out their mechanic couldn't repair my ship; tech levels were too different. So I figured I might as well bide my time on _Serenity_. Crew claimed they were short on muscle, willing to offer ten percent of their fees; a too-convenient opportunity to earn some local coin. Decided it might be smarter to collect a hundred percent instead, take out the fighters and strand the others in my broken boat.

But then I _properly_ met the pilot. And any thought of taking their ship preemptively became the least of my concerns.

* * *

"They call you River," I said, first time she showed up in my bunk. Long, flowing hair, slim curves, a dancer's poise on her toes. She reminded me more of Jack than Kyra, except for the challenging stare, as if she wanted something she thought I owed her. And there were calluses on her hands neither version of my girl had possessed.

"_Serenity_ calls me River," she corrected me, reproach in her tone. "Mal says I'm a person, not an object in space. But _they_ called me 'subject'. What did they call you, Richard B. Riddick?"

"No name I don't own for myself," I shrugged, eyeing her hands again: the hands of a killer. Didn't jive with the soft-spoken brother, the protective captain, the priestess in silks, the open-hearted sister-in-law with her wrenches: couldn't imagine any of them letting a little girl go out to fight. But there she was. "More comfortable that way."

She titled her head, still staring, as though she could see right through me to where the darkness lived. "Hell's messenger," she replied, thoughtfully, as though tasting the words. "Murderer. Escaped convict. Another kind of evil."

A touch of cold ran light-footed up my spine: the first thing I'd experienced in the new 'verse that smacked of the Necro religion at all. I remembered the wasted, writhing bodies of the Quasi-Dead back in the Basilica, and narrowed my eyes, deliberately focusing on that memory.

"All those things," I confirmed.

She nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The thing the monsters fear. We have that much in common."

"Do we?" I cocked an eyebrow. "The ones that made you? Or the other monsters they made?"

Her smile brightened, enough to make those dark eyes of hers dance. "All those things," she echoed.

Then she was gone: that lithe body of hers carrying her out the door quick as a wink.

_That girl's dangerous_, I thought, pricked with unexpected interest. It had been a long time since I'd been with a woman; and never one so young as her. Didn't seem sporting. But there was something about her; something compelling. Something that called to me, one weapon to another.

"So's the Riddick," her voice floated back down the corridor.

I was reminded of Kyra again, and her favorite game; wondered if River would ask me to play.

I figured it might be worth keeping status quo long enough to find out.

* * *

Their merc was actually the first one to cry challenge. Not unexpected; Cobb didn't much appreciate being out-muscled, and strutted every one of the ten centimeters he had on me. Made a big display of his sharp-shooting first opportunity we got, caressing his gun like it was a woman.

First opportunity _I_ got, I demonstrated my knife technique. He eyed me a little more warily after that. Much like he eyed the girl, I realized: with respect. Knew what I could do, but didn't figure it had much to do with _him_ unless he made it that way.

The Captain, Reynolds, was harder to impress. I could scent the signs of a man scarred by the abyss; it marked him nearly as deeply as it did the girl, though it was also clear he'd fought it to the bitter end. Like always knows like, though, and I figured he also knew I'd chosen another path. He watched me like a hawk around all of his women. But he kept his words mild, and only threatened me once.

"River can take care of her own self these days," he said, "and, I suspect, won't look too kindly on my meddling. So I won't. I'll just take a moment to point out that I have a prior history of kicking men into engines as threaten me or my crew."

"And here I thought it was only a bullet in the back I had to worry about," I parried.

He simmered at that, but didn't fly up in defense of his honor; a pragmatic man. "There's always that. Or locking a man in the airlock with the outer door open. But I've got a bit of a reputation to uphold."

"There is that," I agreed, then sneered. "Matter of fact, ain't _my_ reputation to harm anyone who don't offer the same to me first."

"Might be as how our definitions of 'harm' differ," he suggested.

"Ain't much to define," I shrugged, tiring of the argument. "She cries- any of them cry- you try to kill me. Operative word, try."

"Might surprise you. Though I trust it won't come to that."

Amusing, that he thought he had a chance. But we understood each other well enough.

The warrior widow had her own conversation with me; the so-called Companion, as well; and of course the brother and his wife, though they were all variations on the same themes. Never met a crew so ready to defend each other, not even Boss Johns' do-right bunch of mercs.

Not a one of them gave me enough pause to stop me from matching blades with the girl down in the cargo bay, though. She'd nominated me to share uncomfortable truths, and the whole reason I stayed my hand was to take her up on it. Figured I'd still leave the ship eventually, once I earned enough coin to pick a world and disappear. But until then, it was good a way as any to spend my time.

* * *

I only hinted around the subject once, after a fight I'd won by catching the flag of her hair as it whipped by. Playing with her hair was like playing with fire; sometimes coaxing the bright flare of her anger, sometimes sparking heat of a different sort. But on that day, she burned far colder, pulling free with the remote, shuttered expression she turned on those responsible for causing pain.

"I don't believe in traps. Or cages," River said, glaring at me. "I won't set you free, because you're not my prisoner. But the girl won't wait in her tower for her crocodile to come back and turn into a prince."

She used to talk in riddles all the time, I'd been told; I had little use for 'em. Everyone who'd ever tried to draw me in with fancy talk had wanted to _use_ me. But it was plain River's words were no lure; they were blade and shield for the vulnerability underneath.

"And who says you gotta wait? Captain says you've got the whole damn government after you. Might be good to draw 'em away. Set your own terms. Stop worrying about the others."

She shook her head fiercely, lashing me with dark, silky strands. "Tried that, once. Didn't work out. I am the lever that moves worlds; but I need a place to stand. They _choose_ to give me that place. Not because the girl is a weapon; but because she is their girl, and they want to share her fight."

_That_, I could understand. She was with them; if I wanted to keep her, I'd have to be with _her_, not the other way around.

My chest seemed to sting for a moment, in the outline of a hand. I'd killed my people's butcher, but that rage still burned, a perpetual fury in need of an outlet. A thought teased, and I shrugged: never had bowed to any man, nor woman. But it might be interesting to find out if I could.

"Not aiming to leave just yet," I replied. Then I brought my hands back up, gesturing toward me. "Nor take what's yours from you. So how about you try your argument out on _me_."

River's face lit, and she launched herself at me.

I'd never seen anything more beautiful.

-x-


End file.
